


Savage Beast(s)

by TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Accidental Knotting, Alive Hale Family, Alive Vernon Boyd & Erica Reyes, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Anal Sex, Beta Derek Hale, College Student Derek, College Student Stiles, Explicit Sexual Content, Housemates, Human Stiles Stilinski, Knotting, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, M/M, Roommates, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Werewolf Derek, kind of, werewolf behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 06:47:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15286032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving/pseuds/TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving
Summary: In which Stiles gets a werewolf roommate and it only gets better from there





	1. Meeting them

**Author's Note:**

> This is not the story I told [lydia_martin_trash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lydia_Martin_trash/pseuds/Lydia_Martin_trash), whose [amazing art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15287181) inspired this, that I would write, but it's how these two stubborn ~~redacted~~ wanted it told.
> 
> Betaed by the ever lovely [Senna_Frost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Senna_Frost/pseuds/Senna_Frost), who isn't even in the fandom, and the ever suffering gremlin occupying my shower, all remaining mistakes are due to my inability to leave perfection alone.
> 
> As always: Comments, kudos and constructive critism welcome. Remember to leave the talented artist [kudos and positive comments](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15287181) and [likes and reblogs](https://rainhalydia.tumblr.com/post/175880369456/sterekreversebang-my-art-for-the-sterek-reverse) aplenty, too, and check out the rest of the wonderful art and stories for the [Sterek reversebang](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/sterekreversebang2018).  
> Did I miss a tag? Let me know.  
> A final shout out to the hardworking and formidable mods for making this happen, hopefully you'll be here next year, too :)

_You may think them civil, may think they are creatures who adhere to thought and logic; but do not fall prey to the assumption that the face you see in daylight is anything but a mask behind which hides a creature ruled solely by instinct and emotion.  
They are not - nor will they ever be - civilized the way that you and I are._

_\--Unknown_

The alarm clock went off far too early and Stiles could hardly be accused of being fully awake while showering, drying off and getting dressed. Breakfast helped - though coffee would’ve been better; sadly, his dad insisted he’d settle for some orange juice instead - and by the time he was driving towards school, he almost felt human.

Sitting still under the assault of the sun’s scorching rays wearing a black, woolen robe was enough to have him wanting to scream and run out of the school, the only thing keeping him in his seat the thought of how proud his father was of him. However, it didn’t stop him fidgeting, earning himself a few annoyed looks from those sitting closest to him, but only enough to make him stop for a few seconds before bouncing his leg or quietly slapping his hand against his thigh to a beat not even Stiles knew what was.

And then, at long last, the speeches were done, and the principle was calling each student by name onto the stage, shaking their hand and giving them a piece of paper to resemble the diploma that was most likely on its way by mail to their homes. There might just be only a hundred and fifty students or so in Stiles’ year, but as they were called alphabetically by last name it was probably still going to be an hour before he was getting up there and then getting to go hug his dad and go home to their nicely air-conditioned house.

Surprisingly, it’s only forty five minutes later the principal stutters his way through Stiles’ name - butchering every syllable as if “Stiles” isn’t written in any and all of his school records as the name to call him by - and before the man manages to get to the end of it Stiles is standing in front of him, hand out in the hope of speeding everything up (he’s sweating and there’s a headache sneaking up on him due to the heat and the lack of getting anything to drink for the last few hours) startling the principle enough that he blessedly stops trying to wrap his tongue around the Polish name even Stiles can’t really pronounce any more. A few awkward moments later and Stiles is holding a piece of paper in his hand as he makes his way over to the others who’ve already received theirs.

It’s barely half an hour later when Stiles is close enough to see the tears streaming down his dad’s face but before he can worry or comment he’s being hugged as only his dad ever does, though it’s hearing his dad say “we’re _so_ proud of you, Son” that brings a shine to Stiles’ eyes that wasn’t there before.

Without talking they make their way to the jeep, Stiles getting behind the wheel while his dad takes the passenger seat, both trying to get a hold of themselves on the way to the diner on 3rd. To an outsider it might seem like an odd place to go for a celebration, but the family run diner had been Claudia Stilinski’s favorite and once the open wound that was her dying far too early had scabbed over Stiles and his dad had gone there for birthdays, anniversaries and any other occasion that called for celebration; it was a place to feel closer to her that primarily held only good memories, and Stiles graduating high school was definitely worth adding to those, after all he’d worked hard and gotten the second highest GPA of his class.

~x~

There’s a week left of his last summer of freedom and Stiles doesn’t feel any different than he did before graduating. He’d expected that with his newly printed diploma - that had arrived by mail the day after graduation and has long since been lost to the chaos that is his dad’s desk - he’d be more focused, ambitious, feel more _grown up_ even as endless movies, books and the like had led him to believe, but the only thing that was different this summer than any other for the past few years was the absence of his best friend, Scott.

They’d been inseparable ever since Scott and his mom moved to Beacon Hills shortly before Stiles’ eighth birthday. Where one was it was safe to assume the other wasn’t far, Scott a willing accomplice to Stiles’ whims while also putting an end to the wildest of them, seeing as he couldn’t always keep up due to his asthma. There were sleepovers and pranks, detentions for disturbing the class and doing homework together, videogames on weekends and during holidays and a shared first kiss back when they’d been thirteen.

That one had actually been Scott’s idea and with a minimum of persuasion, Stiles - who would’ve agreed to streak naked through the street at that point if it would’ve gotten Scott to press the play button on the game they’d settled on any faster - had puckered his lips and pressed them to Scott’s. It had been all kinds of gross and once it was over they’d both wordlessly agreed to never speak of it again, turned towards the screen and lost hours in the following battle.

It had all changed once Allison Argent and her parents had moved to Beacon Hills and she had started at BHHS; Scott, infatuated, doing his best to catch her attention and once he’d gotten it he’d fallen hard and fast leaving Stiles behind in the careless manner that people tend to when they first feel the pull of _wanting_ another person. At first it had just been Stiles being subjected to breathy sighs followed by horrible poetry about everything Allison, then it was cancelled appointments followed shortly by a text hours after they were supposed to meet up. Stiles had resented Scott for it but somewhere between writing an English essay and bringing his dad lunch he’d come to terms with the fact that sometimes people grow apart.

Even so he’d still hugged both Scott and Melissa at graduation, had wished Scott a nice trip as he was going to France with the Argents, and had gotten up the next morning with the intention of calling him and spend the rest of the day playing video games. And though he hadn’t had the company he’d always expected to have Stiles hadn’t felt the need to change his plans so he’d stayed up all night and gone to bed when the sun rose, only to stumble out of it well past noon, boxers hanging crooked on his lithe frame and his hair sticking every which way as he drags one hand through it the other scratches lazily at his stomach as he makes his way down stairs to the kitchen.

Flicking the coffee maker on he places his elbows on the countertop and rests his head in his hands; by the time the machine shuts off he’s practically asleep though he drags himself into consciousness in order to get a cup from the cupboard and filling it to the brim with the lifegiving nectar.

Sufficiently caffeinated Stiles begins preparing breakfast, knowing the smell of bacon’s going to be far more efficient than physically trying to shake his dad awake - he might even let the man have a few pieces if he eats enough of the fruit Stiles is carefully cutting into bite sized pieces.

Once the floorboards begin creaking Stiles quickly puts everything on the table, pours his dad a cup of coffee before sliding into his chair; it’s always a little surreal seeing his dad out of uniform but seeing as it’s Stiles’ last day home he’s glad his dad hasn’t been called back in.  
They eat in silence, both caught in their own thoughts - the sheriff remembering a little boy who’d needed a steadying hand when getting down from his chair; Stiles recalling both his mother and father holding his hands on his first day of kindergarten. The melancholy feeling remaining all the while they’re eating and cleaning afterwards.

When the last plate is back in its place and there’s nothing left on the kitchen table the sheriff takes the newspaper and retreats to the living room while Stiles goes back upstairs to make sure he’s packed everything he might need for the coming months.

His room feels different, bigger somehow despite all his furniture and the posters hanging on the wall are still there (there’s already a bed, desk and closet in the dorm room he’s moving into) and it makes him antsy like there’s an itch somewhere he can’t reach. The suitcases lying on the bed are filled with clothes, books, his medication and a variety of things he thinks he’ll need. Once he’s satisfied that he’s packed everything on his list he closes them before carrying them down to the door, then he goes back and packs what he’s going to bring with him on the plane: his laptop, the charger for his phone, a few books and whatever else he can make room for.

Soon his dad’s voice is floating towards him telling him to get a move on; grabbing his backpack Stiles looks around his room one last time before descending the stairs and leaving the house. His dad’s already placed the luggage in the cruiser and himself behind the wheel so Stiles locks the door and slides into the passenger seat. The car starts as soon as the sheriff turns the key and within minutes they’ve left Beacon Hills behind them.

The drive to the airport is quiet except for the changing radio stations as Stiles searches for something he wants to listen to; he doesn’t find it before his dad parks the car and the radio goes quiet a few seconds after the engine. With a suitcase each and the backpack securely on Stiles’ back they walk towards the entrance, to the counter where a smiling woman assures him the airline’s going to take good care of them, to the point where only passengers are allowed.

The sheriff’s voice is thick with emotion as they say their goodbyes just as Stiles’ eyes are a little glassy, a tear landing on a clothed shoulder as they hug each other. When the voice sounding over the speaker announcing the final call for Stiles’ flight they let go and with a promise to call as soon as he’s standing in his new dorm room, Stiles hurries to the gate.

* * *

“Mooooom,” there was a petulant whine to the voice floating down the hall, “Laura’s…” but whatever this ‘Laura’ was doing the rest of the hall would never know as the speaker was cut off by what sounded like a short but intense scuffle ending with a muffled cry of “ _victory_ ” in a different voice and a long suffering sigh from what sounded like a third person, which was soon confirmed when they spoke:

“Laura, leave your brother alone.” A beat, “ _Derek Hale_ put that down, and apologize. Both of you!”

“Yes mom,” the two first voices sounded in perfect synchronization, then - quieter - “I’m sorry” and then, when the silence stretched on and those who’d stuck their heads out their doors realized there wasn’t going to be neither more drama nor a fight, everybody withdrew to their own rooms leaving Stiles to make his way down the hall all by his lonesome.

The flight had been okay and he’d even managed to sleep for a while, but it had taken longer than he’d thought to get his luggage and by the time he’d made it to the dorms people were already getting set in their rooms; he’d missed out on the tour of the buildings and the obligatory going over the rules speech - which meant he’d gotten the speech by an annoyed RA, a map and a room key - and by now he just wanted to call his dad and go to sleep.

It’s not that Stiles isn’t curious but considering how tired he is - who knew traveling was this exhausting despite the nap - he decides to find out later what kind of guy shows up at a dormitory with his mother and sister in tow and instead find his room. He bends his knees to be able to reach the handles of his suitcases, tiredly dragging them behind him as he resumes the walk down the hall, counting the doors as he goes.

After what feels like an eternity Stiles can finally see the little bronze plaque with the same number as is written on his key; a last step bringing him in view of the door causing the three people already in the room to snap up their heads in perfect synchronization and Stiles to realize that he’s forever doomed to be at the bottom of the social ladder - in high school for being the sheriff’s son, and at college for sharing a room with a mama’s boy.

Stiles decides later that the melodrama can be excused with either his fatigue or the fact that he’s still a teenager.

“Umm, hi,” he manages, his right hand moving as if it wants to wave at them only for his brain to decide that’s probably a little weird, making it stop somewhere halfway between the suitcase handle and the empty air around his shoulder to fall down against his side; Stiles has a feeling he looks about as crazy as Coach Finstock had whenever he’d regaled the lacrosse team with the tale of losing one of his testicles to exposure.

None of them move for a few, long seconds before a pointed look from the older woman spurs Stiles’ new roommate into action; standing in front of Stiles the guy grabs his suitcases and lifts them over the doorstep and then putting them down beside a bed after pushing his sister away from it. Then he turns, a sheepish look on his face.

“That’s the end wall,” he says pointing to the other bed, his voice higher than Stiles would’ve thought looking at him; then the words register and his mouth opens to ask why that should matter when he remembers the yellow circle on the papers the RA had given him: his new roommate is a werewolf.


	2. Living with them

_They do not possess neither decorum nor respect for propriety._

_\--Unknown_

The first application letter Stiles sent was to his mother’s old alma mater; being able to follow in her footsteps (or, at least step where she’d once walked) had been a dream of his since before she died. He’d been aware that the chances of him attending had been slim, but he’d hoped. However, Stiles was a realist at heart so once the letter was sent he worked down the list he’d meticulously made; applying at basically any college that offered what he was looking for and any scholarship he could claim to be even remotely eligible for.

Getting the acceptance letter had been bittersweet. He’d come home after lacrosse practice and sorting through the mail seeing the pristine envelope had felt like a punch to the gut. He’d dumped the rest of the mail on the kitchen table and brought the letter with him back to the jeep, tearing out the driveway heading towards the cemetery.

Greeting his mom before excitedly tearing through the envelope, his hands shaking as he pulled the letter out of its confines, eyes running through the words causing him to let out an excited noise, a wide smile breaking out on his face.

“I got in,” he whisper-yelled ecstatically to her, clutching the letter in his hands for a second before reading through it more carefully, his smile slowly falling the further he got. Sure, he got in but there was no way he’d be able to go when they couldn’t offer him a scholarship, seeing as there was no way his dad would be able to even help him with tuition for four years.

When he left a few hours later he’d let that particular dream go, feeling a little sad but mostly sure his mom wouldn’t mind him attending a different college than she had. Once he got home he took the admission letter and carefully placed it in his desk drawer; wanting to keep it as something to connect him to his mom but not being reminded of it constantly.

~x~

John Stilinski had always tried to live a life without regret, though the few he did have all involved his son, and none had been greater than realizing he wouldn’t be able to send Stiles to whichever college his heart desired. He and Claudia had had a college fund for the boy but it - along with what little savings they’d had besides that - had gone into hospital bills when she’d fallen ill.

Stiles had despite everything - the loss of his parents (however temporary John’s absence had been it had still been a loss), the new diagnosis of ADHD and finding the right amount of medication - managed to claw his way to the top academically speaking and remained there until graduating high school. And it wasn’t as if his achievements were for naught, most schools he’d applied to offering him scholarships to cover at least tuition, though for every letter Stiles’ smile lost a little of its brightness when going over the numbers in his head, until one day he got one proclaiming he’d get a full ride. John had a hard time remembering when his son had looked as happy as he did right then.

And then it had almost ended before it even got a chance to begin when John saw the name on the envelope, the ensuing screaming match - almost resulting in the neighbors calling the sheriff’s department, which would’ve been all kinds of awkward - where John yelled that there was no way his only son was going to school with a bunch of dangerous Weres and other supernatural creatures, and Stiles shouting he’d be in no greater danger than he’d be at any other school.

Eventually though they’d both cooled down enough to lower their voices and stay in the same room long enough for Stiles to remind him that half the deputies at the sheriff’s station were a supernatural being. Not yet ready to cave, John opened his mouth to argue further when Stiles set in the final blow:

“

Not all danger has claws, dad.”

He’s right of course, nobody knows this better than John, whose voice is thick with unshed tears as he grabs his son in a tight hug and whispers into his hair.

“Thank god you take after your mother.” Which of course leads to Stiles having to fight back tears, too, and gripping his dad equally tight - the rest of the evening spent quietly sharing memories of Claudia interspersed with silent melancholy. For the first time in years Stiles wakes up the next morning smiling despite having dreamt about his mother.

~x~

It’s not that Stiles sets out to do extensive research on things not related to the subject at hand, it’s just that he’s reading something and then there’s a reference or a link and suddenly it’s five hours later and rather than answering a boring economics question on his final exam he writes an essay on the history of male circumcision. Sometimes the internet is nothing but a deep, dark rabbit hole.

Though he supposes that this time he actually went from A to B rather than bypass the latter and end up somewhere around W; after all he’s going to attend a mixed college at which almost 90 percent of the student body is werewolves, so going from which classes to pick and what to bring to werewolf lore and customs isn’t that much of a stretch.

The problem is that Stiles can’t really be sure what is true and what isn’t, because while Beacon Hills has plenty of supernaturals living there - not to mention he practically grew up in the Sheriff’s station where there’s usually at least a few employed at all times, which in turn means he’s been babysat by humans, skinwalkers, fae and even a selkie once - but as far as Stiles knows there’s never been werewolves in Beacon Hills, at least not for the last few centuries, so there really isn’t anybody to ask.

Still he clicks from page to page reading every word, taking notes and bookmarking pages that he thinks might be more truth than either myth or prejudice.

When he falls asleep that night his dreams are a jumbled mess of naked humans running around on all fours while a red eyed wolf barks orders at them; and if he needs to change his sheets come morning it has nothing to do with a shift in the dreams but is merely a sign he cares about his personal hygiene - at least that’s his story and he’s going to stick with it.

* * *

The reality of living with a werewolf is somewhat anticlimactic; it even begins as any other ordinary human interaction.

They start their acquaintance with Stiles digging up some of the manners his parents had actually taught him and introduced himself, pleasantly surprised when he wasn’t met with incredulity (he did wonder at the way Derek cocked his head and the dubious look flying across his face, but decided it didn’t really matter) or laughter. In return he was officially given the name of the three strangers in the room that was partly his: Laura, the oldest of five; Derek, her twin brother; and lastly Talia, their alpha mother - something that surprised Stiles who’d just been reading about how all alphas were male. Apparently, his traitorous mouth decided to voice that information though Talia simply laughed.

“Alphas are usually chosen for what’s between their ears, not legs.” Despite her smile there had been a hint of steel to her voice and Stiles had decided then and there he’d be the president of ‘The Talia Hale Fan club’ if he ever found it existed.

There had been a few more minutes of awkward small talk before Stiles wasn’t able to suppress his yawns any more causing Talia to hug her son, hand Stiles a card with her name and number and then dragging her daughter out the door, down the hall and out of sight. It’s less than thirty seconds after his head hits the pillow that Stiles is out cold.

He wakes to the smell of coffee and the sight of Derek sitting at his desk looking at his laptop. With his usual grace - which is to say none - and a few choice words when his bare feet land on the cool floor Stiles soon manages to escape the grip of his covers; before he can grab the electric kettle Derek’s there with a mug of the lifegiving nectar and Stiles gives up on all pretenses of being an adult when he makes grabby hands at it. He does notice the shy smile gracing Derek’s lips though he’s quick to stomp down the warm feeling unfurling in his gut.

Sufficiently caffeinated, they take a few hours to hash out an agreement to hopefully ensure they’ll get through the year without wanting to strangle each other. While at it, they even set up a loose schedule dividing cleaning and tidying between them - something Stiles hadn’t thought he’d ever have to worry about sharing a room with a guy, but thinking about it, he supposes it makes sense as he’d read several articles proclaiming a werewolf’s sense of smell was as good as a real wolf’s.

Thankfully Derek doesn’t appear to have any issue with Stiles’ night owl tendencies though he requests a ban on using the microwave after either of them have gone to sleep. All in all, it’s far easier than Stiles was led to believe sharing a room with a stranger would be, and soon summer’s over and classes begin.

And despite them not sharing any classes their schedules line up pretty perfectly, which helps minimize tension related to one having to get up early inadvertently waking the other who could’ve slept in; after all, Stiles isn’t a quiet person _after_ his first cup of coffee let alone before.

All in all, it doesn’t feel any different rooming with Derek than it had having sleepovers with Scott growing up, though Stiles can’t remember ever having bemoaned the fact that Scott’s towel wasn’t just an inch shorter or having blood rushing somewhere not spoken of in polite company at the sight of droplets rolling down his naked back.   
Stiles can only hope that Derek _never_ finds out about it.


	3. Getting to know them

_Like the beasts they’re named after they can’t function outside the rigid structure of ‘pack’; all subordinate to the almighty will of the ‘alpha’, and unwilling - or unable - to adhere to civilized norms._

_\--Unknown_

On paper they shouldn’t work: Stiles talks incessantly and Derek was probably a mime in a previous life. Thankfully Derek’s eyebrows have developed a language of their own to make up for his lack of verbal communication and within a few months Stiles considers himself nearly fluent - an announcement that has Derek rolling his eyes judgmentally at both him and a visiting Laura, howling with laughter (Stiles has no idea why she’s here but she tells embarrassing stories that makes Derek’s ears turn red so he’s not going to complain nor leave unless he’s asked to).

Derek prefers to scowl at his computer and textbooks when they’re uncooperative while Stiles gestures angrily and hisses profanities at it (there may be occasional yelling, but he isn’t going to admit to anything). Stiles subsists on Reese’s peanut butter cups, hot pockets and the like while Derek’s a health freak who drinks smelly protein shakes (that look disturbingly like pond sludge) and cleans the microwave every two days.

And yet they’re becoming friends; any harsh ‘shut up’ is softened by a fond slant to Derek’s eyebrows and Stiles doesn’t comment on the smelly shakes any more, has even bought a few - they were a thank you for Derek bringing him sandwiches while Stiles was stuck in the library, but still.

The only thing Stiles would change if he could, is his rapidly growing crush on the Were. At first it’s nothing more than lust, after all Derek is almost six feet of gloriously bearded perfection, but the better he gets to know him - the sarcastic, lovable asshole hiding behind the glares and silences - the less it’s a simple desire of climbing him like a tree and more Stiles wanting to hold his hand and eat spaghetti Lady and the Tramp style (before climbing him like a tree, of course).

And so the first semester passes by in a blur of classes, homework, bonding with Derek, lusting after Derek, falling in love with Derek and then going home for Thanksgiving missing Derek. The only good thing is that once his dad’s gone for his shift Stiles gets to do what he’s neglected for far too long while thinking about sleepy Derek making coffee.

After, while getting up because his aim hasn’t improved in the slightest, he can’t help but think he should’ve known better by now than crushing on unobtainable people.

~x~

Taught by experience, Stiles returns, determined to put his crush behind him and keep Derek’s friendship - while the former might be impossible, Stiles is determined to succeed at the latter.

Luckily the professors turn out to be helpful; the workload increases and there’s the matter of the first exams once Christmas is over and done with, so the time Stiles and Derek spends together is mostly just a few hours of sleep before one’s running to class while the other’s rushing off towards the library.

Then one day as Stiles is leaving his last class he recognizes a strawberry blonde ponytail and without thought calls out to its owner:

“Lydia.”

She turns and while Stiles is glad to see her, a familiar face in a sea of (mostly) strangers, there’s nothing left of the love he thought he felt for her back in high school when she’d posed as hotheaded queen residing over her court of adoring followers hiding her genius from everybody not looking close enough.

For a second it seems as if she’d going to ignore him - she did for ten years, she could do it again - but then she visibly takes a deep breath and takes a step in his direction.

“Stiles,” her voice is carefully neutral and Stiles winces to himself before deciding to ignore it for the time being; he’s aware he deserves her wariness but he hopes he’s changed enough to be her friend now that she’s so unexpectedly back in the same state as he is. So he asks if she wants to grab a coffee and catch up, and surprisingly she agrees though he has no idea what made her change her mind - a decade’s worth of what was essentially stalking told him she was going to refuse, even while he was getting through the ‘strictly as friends’ part of the question.

Conversation is stilted at first but soon they’re talking as if they’ve been the best of friends for years.

It turns out that Lydia’s a banshee and once her powers manifested, MIT had no longer been an option. As this is the second best school in her field Lydia then transferred at the end of the semester and by now is ready to take over the world once more. Stiles can’t help but grin at the difference between this Lydia (proud of her achievements and not hiding her smarts) and the one he’d gone to high school with and had wanted to marry once they got old enough.

Stiles tells her about his own studies and living with Derek - “Thank god that article was wrong. I would have died if he had a habit of walking around naked; it’s bad enough when he gets back from the shower wearing nothing but a towel” - a subject he can (and does) spend a long time on. By the time Stiles realizes how late it’s gotten Lydia’s smiling at him and they’re agreeing to meet up the next day.

~x~ 

He hadn’t planned to ever introduce Lydia to Derek - he’s not sure he’d be able to be happy for them if they ended up together - but on a day in the early spring Lydia thinks they need a change of scenery and as her roommate has her boyfriend visiting that brings them to Stiles’ and Derek’s room.

Lydia’s commandeered his bed while Stiles has spread his books and notes over the desk, Derek’s desk and the floor. They’re sitting in relative silence - Lydia is quiet, Stiles’ pen is tapping against the table and he’s humming - until the point where the door suddenly slams open and a blonde girl in a miniskirt and leather jacket marches in, sits herself down on Stiles’ bed and levels an expectant look at the door where two guys and Derek - looking sheepish - are standing.

Nobody speaks for a good thirty seconds but before Stiles can rectify that, the newcomer holds her hand out to Lydia.

“I’m Erica. That’s Boyd and that’s Isaac,” she points to the two guys standing just behind Derek, then raising an expectant eyebrow at Lydia whose lips stretch in a diabolical smile.

“So _that’s_ Derek,” she says giving him an appreciative once over and completely ignoring the pleading look Stiles throws her before turning back to Erica, grabbing her hand and giving it a shake.

“Lydia. And I’m sure you know who Stiles is.” And Stiles can feel himself pale at the predatory smile the two women send him while wondering who the hell these people are that he’s never seen before. He never gets to ask though as Lydia and Erica stand in silent agreement and declares they’re all going out to eat. Even while they’re getting into the booth at the nearest pizza place Stiles isn’t entirely sure how it happened.

It turns out that Erica, Isaac and Boyd are Derek’s packmates who are visiting, apparently considering transferring both to be closer to the pack - the Hale pack lives only an hour away - and Derek. Stiles mentally coos as the top of Derek’s ears pink and the pleased smile he’s trying to hide in his milkshake, and by the time the three betas leave and Lydia’s back at her own dorm the six of them are already kind of inseperable.

~x~

When summer rolls around again and Stiles has passed his exams with flying colors and is literal minutes away from leaving for Beacon Hills and monitoring his dad’s diet, Derek drops the question of living together next year.

“We’re renting a house just off of campus,” he says. “If you want there’s room enough for you,” he hesitates then adds: “Lydia, too, of course.” And Stiles has no idea what he’s supposed to do with this, so he says he’ll think about it, hugs Derek and then he’s gone.

Two hours later he calls and says that if the offer still stands he’d love to take Derek up on it if he promises Stiles won’t ever have to share a room with Lydia. As Stiles isn’t in the same room, he misses the way Derek’s whole body relaxes when he realizes Stiles and Lydia aren’t a couple.


	4. Spending time with them

_They’re vicious killing machines; stalking their tiny prey ripping them limb from limb, blood dripping from their teeth. The joy of the hunt, the kill, is all they feel._

_\--Unknown_

The worst part about continuing to live with Derek is how Stiles just can’t seem to get over him and how everybody soon catches on to it. Erica teases him mercilessly, though she thankfully only does so when Derek’s nowhere within hearing distance. That’s the best thing about this college, sharing a room with Derek the first year and now living with four werewolves: Stiles gets his curiosity sated and the opportunity to disprove basically everything he’s read about them. When they aren’t making fun of him and saying stupid shit, such as “Just tell him, Stiles,” which is in every way a useless thing to say.

But the important thing is that Stiles learns stuff, some useful to his degree and some not, he has more friends than he’s had in years and people who are actually competition when playing Mario Kart. Lydia is _fierce _and woe to anybody who dare to challenge her.__

____

The summer after sophomore year Derek invites Lydia and Stiles to visit the pack. Lydia’s expressed a wish to learn more about being a banshee and as the Hales are one of the oldest packs in the country, they have a few books and other texts on the subject that Talia has agreed to let Lydia read and let her meet their emissary who can help her, too. Why Stiles is invited he has no idea, but he agrees anyway especially since his dad has to work; John has said he’ll come visit once school starts back up and he gets some vacation time.

They’ve made the trip in Derek’s car. Erica, Boyd, Isaac and Lydia squeezing into the back seat leaving the passenger seat for Stiles and Derek to drive; Stiles had tried switching with Boyd as he’s far broader than Stiles is but he’d just leveled him with his usual blank stare and gotten in next to Erica letting her snuggle under his arm. The trip feels as if it lasts no more than five minutes - which is as long as it took Stiles to fall asleep - and when he wakes up he’s halfway convinced he’s still dreaming.

Trees are lining the road and at the end Stiles can see the house, though as they get closer he thinks ‘mansion’ is more accurate; it seems old but well cared for as it’s placed right in the middle of a forest. As the car comes to a stop people break through the treeline in various stages of the shift, hugging and scenting the four wolves getting out. Stiles and Lydia hang back unsure what to do when the front door opens and a man steps through.

“One should think you were raised by wolves,” he says, smiling at his own joke as those gathered groan in exasperation.

“Since you did the raising that seems likely,” Derek says taking a step forward and hugging the man. “Uncle Peter, meet Stiles,” Derek says and as they’re shaking hands: “Stiles, this is my uncle Peter, don’t trust a word he says.”

“Now, now, nephew dear. I’m very trustworthy, just ask your mother. And you must be Lydia,” he turns to her and they, too, shake hands before he turns and leads them around the house into what is either a garden soon to be reclaimed by the forest or just a clearing. Even more people are gathered here standing in small groups talking while a gaggle of children are running around. It’s pretty overwhelming to someone whose family consists of two people but Stiles still enjoys every bit of it.

~x~

The Hales - well, _technically_ they aren’t all Hales though they refer to themselves as such - are a loud, rowdy, massive group of werewolves and humans. It’s not that other supernaturals can’t be part of a pack, as Stiles and Lydia are told at some point, and if they need proof the alpha of the Satomi pack probably won’t mind a visit, they have a few kitsunes. Lydia wonders why they would worry about that to which Talia simply smiles and changes the subject.

Soon though Lydia’s wrapped up in dusty tomes and long talks with the emissary and Stiles is left to his own devices, at least as much as one can be in a house filled with people. Stiles spends quite a bit of time with Peter who indulge him enough to answer any question no matter how inappropriate or inane, to a point where even some of the younger children teases him with it.

On the too warm days they all get into the cars and go off to the beach. Somehow Stiles always ends up next to Derek, often in the back of a car pressed closed head to toe and sometimes in the front seats, and each time Stiles’ heart starts beating faster and sweat gathers in his palms and while it’s thrilling being so close to him that Stiles can smell him even with his human nose it’s mixed with the worry that Derek’ll know and will reject him.   
But as long as Derek doesn’t say anything Stiles can lean a little closer and pretend, can keep the fantasy alive while Derek helps him put on sunscreen and when he shakes water all over Stiles after swimming and then laughs joyously at the shriek Stiles lets out when the cold droplets hits his overheated skin. The fantasy doesn’t fade until Stiles is lying in the guest bedroom and the warmth of Derek’s skin is nothing but a distant memory.

~x~

The morning of the first full moon has the house in complete chaos. Talia’s baking, Peter’s cooking and everybody over the age of five has something to do. Derek gets babysitting duty and Stiles is roped into getting lawn chairs from the shed out into the back yard.

On one of the endless trips Stiles happens to look to the side, the sight causing him to stop in his tracks and nearly dropping the chairs onto his feet.   
Derek’s sitting cross legged in the shade of a gigantic tree - Stiles has no idea what kind it is - a few rays of sun making their way through the branches painting golden squares on his clothes and skin, making him even more beautiful than usual. However, that isn’t what has Stiles motionless, no what he can’t take his eyes off of is the way the children, Peter’s if he remembers correctly, human and only two or three years old, are using Derek as a jungle gym and Derek just _letting_ them.

Stiles recalls having read multiple places that werewolves are bloodthirsty creatures, ready to kill everything with a pulse within reach but as he watches, one of the kids tries to drag himself up by Derek’s hair and Derek gently grabs his hands to replace the black strands with his fingers without fur or fangs making an appearance - not even a growl makes it past Derek’s lips - and Stiles can’t help the wistful sigh leaving his lips.   
He must’ve been louder than he intended because Derek’s head snaps up from where he was looking at his cousin, his eyes meeting Stiles’ across the lawn, gaze intense when he slowly dislodges the kids and stands, stalking predatorily towards Stiles, intent written in every line of his body and Stiles just standing there with a lawn chair in either hand staring.

“Tell me to stop,” Derek rasps and then between one breath and the next he leans closer, breathes deeply as if committing Stiles’ scent to memory.   
It feels as if the world’s holding its breath waiting for Stiles to either do or say something, but there’s no air left in his lungs, no way he could form words let alone let them past the confines of his chest - not that he’d want to, even if this is a dream or some cruel joke there’s no way he would ever tell Derek to stop whatever he’s currently doing.

There’s the distant sound of wood splintering but all Stiles cares about is how he can now lift his arms, can slide his empty hands up Derek’s body until he can comb his fingers through dark hair pulling Derek closer, closer, closer; only to be interrupted by the sound of laughter.   
Both their heads jerk upwards and - miraculously - they avoid hitting each other, their eyes darting everywhere but at the person right in front of them.

Despite nobody walking into sight the magic has been broken and they both take a step back, away from each other. Stiles’ mouth opens but whatever words were on his tongue they dry up as all he can see is the pink tips of Derek’s ears as he bends to pick up the chairs Stiles dropped less than thirty seconds ago. When he’s upright once more there’s a sheepish look on his face and Stiles has barely gotten a grip on the furniture before Derek lets go and practically runs away from him. It takes a few more deep breaths before Stiles’ legs are steady enough for him to walk and even once he’s done bringing the lawn chairs from the shed he still feels out of breath.

Perhaps it takes Stiles a little too long to clue in on the fact that Derek is purposely avoiding him; in his defence “organized chaos” is an apt description of the Hale house and so it wasn’t totally unlikely that they’d be occupied far from each other. However, Stiles does manage to corner Derek a few times but before he can demand any kind of answers from him, Derek cocks his head and hurries away with a “sure, mom” as if Stiles isn’t very well aware that Talia is too busy finding a way around Peter and his ladle to get a taste of what he’s making to keep track of Derek.

At long last everything’s ready and the large dining table is groaning under the weight of the ridiculous amount of food Peter - and whoever he’d managed to drag into the kitchen until he turned his back and they fled; the man’s weirdly intense in the kitchen and nobody volunteers to help him more than once - has made.

They all descend on the food like the wolves most of them are and before long the only sounds heard are chewing and the birds still singing in sky. When everybody’s had their fill the kids - except Stiles and Lydia seeing as they are guests - are stuck with clean up; by the time that’s done the sun’s about to set and all the wolves gather around Talia.

Having lived among and with werewolves for the last two years should’ve prepared Stiles for what happens next. Of course most of the students and teachers spending the full moons on campus rarely shift fully, but Stiles has seen it often enough that he’s used to every Were undressing before doing so - there was a newly turned Were the first winter who hadn’t, and the destruction the shift had caused to his clothes was impressive, so taking it off before shifting is, if nothing else, a good way to save quite a lot of money. The point is: it shouldn’t come as a surprise when the wolves start undressing just like it shouldn’t be difficult taking his eyes off of them, and yet his eyes keep straying from the tree line back to dark hair; broad shoulders; sculpted chest; narrow hips; a soft looking trail of hair leading to… and back to the tree line before the same thing happens over and over again until Derek finally _shifts_ , gracefully falling to the ground and between one breath and the next the human is gone, replaced by a black wolf.   
Stiles is brought out of his reverie when they throw their heads back and howl, the sound echoing through the air as the wolves take off and within seconds are out of sight.

~x~

While the wolves run those who can’t shift stays at the house; Eric - Derek’s dad - gets a fire going while Peter’s wife, Amy, brings out everything needed for s’mores. The next few hours are spent in a whirlwind of playing tag with the kids, talking and making and eating s’mores. By the time the youngest kids are finally asleep Stiles practically falls into one of the lawnchairs he’s put there earlier and is almost halfway to dreamland himself when there’s a chuckle at his right.

“You get used to it,” Amy says. Stiles turns his head raising an eyebrow inquiringly. “The pull from the moon,” she continues, “we may not feel it as keenly as the wolves, but being pack means we’re still affected.”   
She looks back at a window that Stiles suspects belongs to her children’s room and then back at the trees, a fond smile stretching her lips wide as a brown wolf with a grey muzzle breaks through making its way over to them placing something in front of Amy. Curious Stiles leans closer only to be hit by a wave of nausea at the sight of the very dead rabbit Peter has brought her. 

“I love you, too,” she says petting the wolf’s head before carefully picking up the rabbit, getting up from the chair and going to do whatever one is supposed to do with a dead woodland creature. Not that Stiles had any objections to hunting per se more that he prefered to not be anywhere near it before it was ready to be bought at a store or, better yet, cooked and ready to eat.

On the bright side now he knows better than to look too closely when the giant black wolf with the red eyes - Talia - drags something large towards the chair where Eric’s drowsing.   
He’s so busy not looking that he misses the other black wolf coming his way and he can’t help the (manful, he’ll insist when later telling the story) shriek he’s letting out when something cold and wet touches his arm. Thankfully nobody seems to pay them any attention as Stiles looks down just as Derek carefully places something next to him.

Flinching, he fully expects something dead and bloody like Peter and Talia had brought, it takes his brain a few long seconds to decipher what his eyes are seeing: a bouquet of blue and pink lupines, the stems clearly marked by canine teeth - there’s something green lodged between Derek’s fangs as Stiles takes a closer look, but rather than commenting on it Stiles picks up the flowers as gently as he can, scratches behind the wolf’s ears in a way he knows Derek enjoys even if he’d deny it vehemently when asked.

“They’re beautiful. Thank you,” he says, smiles when the wolf jumps up onto the chair to lie beside him. They fall asleep at some point, Derek a furnace against his side and the flowers in Stiles’ hand the other wrapped securely around the wolf.

* * *

The drive back to their off campus apartment is much like the drive a month earlier, only this time whenever they stop at a red light Derek will grab Stiles’ hand; and when they stop for gas or snacks or because Boyd saw a pretty bird he wanted to look closer at, Stiles stands next to Derek the two of them leaning against the car with their arms around each other.


	5. Knowing them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut. If that isn't your thing you can skip this and tell yourself the story had four chapters.  
> In case it's a dealbreaker this chapter features bottom!Stiles
> 
> Title because I think I'm hilarious

_It’s spoken of in hushed whispers, lost somewhere between myth and legend. No one would ever dare ask, and yet I find my curiosity needs to be sated; which is why I write you, to ask you plainly: Is it true…_

_\--Unknown_

When the taste of Stiles explodes on his tongue Derek’s control evaporates.  
The kiss deepens as they map out each other’s mouths, Stiles’ blood sweet where it wells on his tongue getting too close to a sharp canine; Derek’s retreat stopped by a whimper and long fingers grabbing his hair pulling him back in.

The world’s tinted golden yellow as the wolf looks into sun warm amber, Stiles’ eyes wide in wonder as he takes in the differences between Derek’s human face and his features altered by the betashift. Derek’s nostrils flare, searching for a change in Stiles’ scent but it’s still lemony sharp and freshly cut grass and the sugary cotton candy arousal that has Derek’s mouth water in anticipation.

“Gods,” Stiles groans, the gravel in his voice going straight to Derek’s dick already straining uncomfortably against its denim prison. “That’s so _hot_ ,” he says, fingers petting Derek’s sideburns as Stiles pushes forward causing Derek’s back to slam into the opposite wall and Stiles’ mouth descends on his. They spend an eternity just standing there pressed together head to toe while kissing, Stiles’ moans mingling with Derek’s growls in the push and pull of their lips and tongues. After the birth of countless galaxies, the need for oxygen trumps the need for the other and they separate just enough to reestablish their existence as two entities though still close enough they’re sharing the same air.

Stiles’ hand on his skin, his fingers closing around Derek’s wrist as Stiles turns in a surprisingly graceful movement dragging him behind as he strides towards the nearest bed - Derek’s, thankfully. Stiles’ scent beneath him, around him, _on top_ of him; Stiles straddling his lap and it feels as if he’s on fire even with their clothes between them.  
There’s nothing but instinct as he reaches up, grabs at Stiles’ shirt and with the help of his strength and claws gets rid of the offending piece of clothing.

At any other time, Derek would’ve been embarrassed by the sound that’s torn from his throat, a mixture of a sob and that of a dying animal though all appreciation of the naked torso bared to his eyes. The last tinge of suntan the perfect background for the beauty marks adorning his skin like little constellations Derek’s dying to trace with his fingers, lips, _dick_ if Stiles will let him; the dark hair adorning his sternum drawing Derek’s gaze leading to his nipples, the small buds pebbling under his gaze leaving him helpless to anything but lifting his hands, carefully trace them with clawed fingers watching in fascination as Stiles shivers before arching into the touch.

Neither knows how much time passes lost as they are exploring each other, committing every touch and reaction to memory, marvelling at the sounds a flick of a wrist or a scrape of teeth elicit. It’s not even really clear how they’re suddenly naked except for the sock still halfway on Derek’s left foot, not that it matters when at long last they’re skin to skin.

Stiles’ flushed skin radiates more heat than a werewolf, redness spreading down his neck, chest all the way to his belly button, Derek’s hands slowly traveling its path. On top of him Stiles presses closer, lets his own hands mirror Derek’s as he tries to touch everywhere causing the Were to lose minutes to the pleasure of it.

The chemical smell of lube startles him and before he can even wonder when he closed his eyes Stiles is already a couple of fingers in and, judged by the noises he’s making, up close and personal with his prostate. A quick look at his hands tells Derek he shouldn’t try to replace Stiles’ fingers with his own but that doesn’t stop him from take in the sight before him; the light sheen of sweat on Stiles’ brow, his half lidded eyes and mouth hanging open. Stiles’ lips are pink and swollen from their previous kissing; Derek briefly wonders what they’d look like strained in white after rocking himself to completion between them, his dick twitching in interest against Stiles’ furiously working hand causing him to open his eyes and focus. Then he _grins_ and before Derek can fully comprehend it he’s surrounded by blistering heat and Stiles gyrating his hips just so; thrusting up into the tight clutch of Stiles’ body is everything Derek’s ever wanted.

There’s nothing but this: skin slapping against skin as they pull back before inevitably crashing into each other repeatedly to the point where his mind’s empty and instinct dictates every single movement. There’s a surprised yelp when Derek grabs his hips and in an impressive display of strength has Stiles face down on the bed and himself draped across his back without them ever separating.

“And that’s definitely a yes to the manhandling,” Stiles’ breathless voice registers even if the words do not as Derek’s chasing the lure of release with a snap of his hips; in and out until there’s only in, in, in only to be replaced by every muscle in his body locking up as he comes, his mind going blank for a few blissful seconds.  
When he no longer feels like his brain is leaking out his ears he barely has time to register the way Stiles moves beneath him before his dick’s squeezed tighter than before and then the abrupt realization that not only is he still coming but he also seems to be stuck; which is proven by a pained sound when he tries to pull back and Stiles’ hand on his wrist.

“Knot,” Stiles groans. “I thought Peter was lying when he told me about them.” A beat in which Derek tries to gather his thoughts and say something; what he isn’t really sure but he can start with an apology and then work his way from there he thinks.  
“Should’ve asked Amy,” Stiles continues, oblivious to Derek freaking out because nobody sure as hell ever told him his dick was going to _mutate_ if he ever got to have sex with Stiles. “She’d’ve laughed at me and then told me stories even worse than Peter’s but she’d’ve eventually taken pity on me and told me the truth… I think… You okay there, big guy?” His question making it through the fog in Derek’s mind.

“Eh,” his statement is punctuated by yet another spurt of come and Derek can feel his entire face going red in embarrassment; Stiles laughs but it sounds joyous and not as if he’s mocking Derek’s inability to string words together five minutes into the most improbable orgasm of his life.

“It’s okay, we got the rest of our lives to figure it out.”

~x~

In the living room Lydia quickly adjusts her plans for world domination seeing as she no longer has to wait for Stiles.

**[end]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm on [tumblr](https://theydraggedmein.tumblr.com/) if you want to fawn over me anonymously


End file.
